Helen of Troy
by tavari
Summary: Everybody knows of Helen and her beauty... They blame her for the Trojan war. Perhaps they are right in doing so, and perhaps not. This is my take on Helen's life. The story will be in third person until chapter three.
1. The Birth

Everybody knows who Helen of Troy is; the most beautiful woman in the world, fathered by mighty Zeus, and the love and downfall of Troy and Prince Paris. But who was she really? A calm, meek little thing blinded with love for Paris? An arrogant Queen with no real feelings for "lesser" beings? Or merely a woman cursed with the "gift" of un-measurable beauty? Perhaps none of these; and perhaps all... Perhaps it is impossible to describe her, or anybody for that matter; maybe only the Gods can. But listen now, to the story of Helen. Not Helen of mighty Troy, or battle- ready Sparta, just Helen.  
  
Leda laid in her large bed, hung with the richest silks and velvets, still weak and tired from the long, hard birthing process. Attendants and midwives fluttered about her chambers, chatting in hushed undertones, and occasionally stopping to wipe her brow. Leda sighed heavily, and shut her eyes, blocking out the light of the single lit taper next to her bed. Her body felt immobile, and heavy, as though it had turned into a rock. She wore only a silk shift, and her hair lay matted about her pale face, lovely despite everything. "The child...?" She asked to nobody in particular.  
An attendant immediately swept over to her side, eyes friendly, and mouth twisted into a motherly smile. "Children, your highness, you had twins! A boy and girl."  
A boy and a girl. Well, Tyndarecus would certainly be happy. She winced inwardly. Yes, he would be very happy... but only because he didn't know. She hadn't told him about the swan. Tyndarecus would think he was the father. She would never tell him otherwise. Her thoughts drifted, disconnected, as she remembered that night, nine months ago. She had risen early, left Tyndarecus still sleeping in their chambers, and had wandered out to the olive orchard. She had always loved that place. It was located on a slight hill, overlooking the Aegean Sea, and the wind constantly blew gently up their, causing the green-grey leaves to sway to-and-fro, carrying the scent of olives. But that morning the wind ripped through the trees violently, whipping her skirt and hair, and yanking the delicate branches of the olive trees. A swan had appeared before her, out of nowhere. It had not said anything, but it stood there with such majesty, and cast such an indescribable feeling over her that she knew it wasn't ordinary... it was Zeus, King of the Olympians. Leda had heard of Zeus' many exploits" Io, Europa, Leta... and she had tried to run, back to the safety of Tyndarecus. But the swan barred her way, had its way with her. And just as mysteriously, it had left.  
"Leda," A deep, gentle voice whispered in her ear, disrupting her thoughts.  
Leda's eyes snapped open immediately, and she forced a small smile upon her face as she gazed at Tyndarecus's concerned, yet excited face. He was handsome, for a mortal, with olive skin, curling dark brown hair and beard, and athletic body.  
"Leda," he repeated, "are you alright?"  
"Yes," she replied listlessly. She did not want to talk right now. All she wanted to do was sleep.  
"They are beautiful," he said, caressing her face. "Thank you."  
Leda nodded slightly. She hadn't really had a chance to look at them yet.  
"What shall we name them?"  
Leda had to smile at his persistence. He would never know how draining birth could be. "I don't know... bring them to me."  
With a boyish spring in his step, Tyndarecus walked over to the cradle that the two had to share until another could be made. Gently, he picked up two small bundles, one in each arm, and returned to his wife's side. Slowly, he sat down on the bed, and presented the babies to their mother.  
They were sleeping, yes tightly shut, and their color still alarmingly red. Leda looked at them tenderly, already feeling joy sweep over her body. She loved them more than anything, and carefully, she caressed them both. The girl child opened her eyes at her mother's touch, and Leda was shocked at the stunning, ocean blue color of them.  
"A beautiful girl," Tyndarecus said as all fathers did when they first were presented with their daughters.  
"Yes," Said Leda, "Beautiful. She should have a fitting name..."  
"Ariana?" Tyndarecus suggested.  
Holy. The name meant holy. And the child was indeed holy, for Zeus was indeed her father. But Leda did not want to have her child to have a name that commemorated that fact. The child would be Tyndarecus's, not Zeus's. Leda shook her head, "No," she merely said.  
"Atalanta?" was the next suggestion.  
"No, our child will not be a hunter... She will make a mark on this world."She thought of the beautiful eyes, "She will be beyond beautiful. She will possess such a face that the likes of it have not yet been seen on any mortal." Leda did not know why she had said this. The word had simply come to her; all she knew was that they were true.  
Tyndarecus smiled. All mothers said such things. "The boy?" He prompted.  
"Pollux?"  
"Yes," Tyndarecus said, nodding, a strong, good name. He will be a warrior.  
Leda smiled; all men said such things. 


	2. The Joys of Childhood

Leda and Tyndarecus, Queen and King of Sparta sat in their finely carved respective thrones. Their four children: Clytemnestra and Castor, the eldest twins, and Helen and Pollux, were seated upon four smaller thrones.  
"I bring greetings from Troy," Said a short, wiry man with wispy white-blonde. He wore a plain white tunic, with only a crimson stripe to remind all those who saw him of his importance: Ambassador of Troy.  
"We welcome you, Flauvian of Troy," Tyndarecus returned. New creases had developed around his eyes, and streaks of gray could be found in his once rich hair. "We hope your stay here is an enjoyable one."  
"I can only hope, your majesty."  
"Where's Troy?" Helen asked Castor in a high whisper.  
"Across the Aegean," Castor replied. He was fourteen, and his voice was beginning to deepen.  
"What is Troy? Why does everybody talk about it?"  
Castor glared at her, and then resolutely resumed his statuary pose.  
"Tell me!" Hissed Helen.  
"Not now!" Castor snapped. "Pay attention!"  
Helen gave him a glare in return, and then was quiet.  
"And are these the royal children?" Flauvian was now saying.  
"Yes," Tyndarecus replied, "May I present to you my eldest son: Castor-"  
Castor strode forward, chest puffed out and with what he hope was a regal expression on his face.  
"Prince of Sparta," Flauvian addressed him, bowing his head.  
"My eldest daughter, Clytemnestra."  
"A beauty she is," The ambassador said with a smile.  
"Yes. Pollux..."  
"Fine young man. Has the look of Apollo about him."  
"And my last, Helen."  
Flauvian did not say anything. He stared at the twelve-year-old girl, speechless. "Amazing," he whispered.  
Helen smiled, not abject to flattery, and grinned at her parents, basking in the attention.  
"Aphrodite's child," the ambassador was saying.  
Helen beamed at the man.  
  
That night the royal family of Sparta dined in one of the many great halls, alone with the exception of the two servitors who stood by the low table and couches with bottles of watered down wine.  
"Father- what is Troy?"  
Tyndarecus set down his goblet, and turned to stare at his daughter. "Troy is the King of cities," he said quietly. "It is the center of all that mankind finds worthwhile. It rules the Aegean with it's mighty fleet, and possesses such walls that no army has ever breached them."  
"Like us?"  
"No, my dear, we are not like Troy. No city on earth can begin to compare with it." Tyndarecus did not seem resentful of this fact, he merely spoke like a man in awe, like the many others who had beheld and seen the city.  
"I'd like to see Troy someday," Helen said, her eyes wide.  
"Perhaps you will," Said her father with a smile. "Maybe I shall take you next time I go-"  
"She's too young, yet," Leda interrupted.  
"I'm twelve," Helen retorted, as if her mother needed reminding.  
"When you're older," Leda repeated.  
"I've seen it," Said Castor.  
"As I have," Clytemnestra replied.  
Helen gave her father a look of despair, before returning to her dinner.  
"You shall see mighty Troy," Tyndarecus said with a laugh. "You are a part of the ruling house of Sparta- a mighty city within itself."  
Leda frowned slightly, noticing the look in her daughter's eyes. But it was nothing, she told herself. Helen was too young.  
  
"Father wants me married," Clytemnestra informed her sister proudly. The two girls sat in their large chamber, decorated with large mosaics, depicting the Gods and their revelry.  
Helen immediately set down her brush, "Married!" She exclaimed. "You?"  
Clytemnestra nodded, honey colored eyes shining with excitement.  
"But to whom?" Helen demanded.  
"Father's gotten several offers... Oh- I can't wait until they come!"  
"Who's 'they'?"  
"My suitors! Oh they'll come from all over... They say Achilles will come to beg my hand!"  
Helen smirked at this, "Ah, the man-woman." Everybody had heard of Achilles, and how his mother had disguised him as a woman in Sycros, but nobody knew the reason why.  
"I'm sure if you knew the whole story, you wouldn't be so quick to mock him! Besides... He is supposedly the most powerful warrior alive today! And a handsome one at that, if the reports are true." Clytemnestra's eyes were glazed over, and a faint smile toyed about her lips.  
"I heard he had an affair," Helen said, picking up her silver comb again and gently pulling it through her hair.  
"All men do," Clytemnestra snapped. "Why, you heard father talk of Priam tonight, didn't you?"  
"Yes..." Replied Helen slowly.  
"They say he has fifty sons and fifty daughters!"  
"Fifty?" Helen exclaimed. "That is not possible. His wife..."  
"Hecuba," Clytemnestra said, "Is his wife, but she did not bear all his children..."  
"But..."  
"He's a man, Helen," Said Clytemnestra, toying with one of her brown curls that had escaped her braid that she always wore to bed, "He does not spend all his nights with Hecuba."  
"Poor lady," Helen murmured, "I would never marry so inconstant a man."  
"No, you wouldn't..." Clytemnestra said softly. With a critical eye she examined her sister. Even she had to admit her sister had something special about her. She was extraordinarily beautiful, with her famed eyes, long, wavy blonde hair, pale skin, delicate nose, and a slight rose tint on her alabaster cheeks. While her body had not yet become a woman's it was long, and slim, though not unhealthily so. And there was a less describable thing about her too, like, she couldn't put it into words... an indescribable majesty and elegance... Ah! In two years the men would flock. Already they stared at her as she passed. She did not notice, yet. But when she was older...  
"What are you thinking about?" Helen demanded. She had moved over to her sister's bed, and plopped down on the blue velvet cushions next to Clytemnestra's head.  
"Nothing," Clytemnestra said dismissively, "Now go to bed."  
Helen sighed, but nevertheless returned to her own bed, blowing at the candles that lit the room as she passed.  
  
Her dreams were haunted that night. She was running, screaming through a city engulfed in flames. People were screaming; screaming at her but she could not make out their words. She felt rough hands yank at her clothing, and she was thrown to the ground. And above her, flamed by flames was a face, blackened by soot, and marked by two, deathly cold eyes.  
  
She awoke the next morning bathed in sweat, and for the first time in her life she felt true fear.  
"Do you feel all right, my lady," asked Helen's nurse, Alisa.  
"Yes," Helen replied quietly. She did not want to share her dream with Alisa. She felt, somehow, that that would make the dream come true. She could not get the fear of the flames out of her hair, the terrified, angry voices, and above all the fearsome man out of her head.  
"Well you sure don't look it, sweetie. Rest today, for tonight we have some visitors. Important guests of your father. Wear this for now." She handed Helen a dark Green tunic, embroidered with bronze thread, but did not bother to tie back her flowing hair.  
With a quick hug, Helen ran off to find Clytemnestra.  
  
She found her next to a small pound, located on the cliffs that stood over the harbor. About a hundred ships were docked there; warships. Smaller fishing ships could be seen further out to seen, their brightly colored sails straining against their ropes in the slight breeze. And there were two, less recognizable ships anchored near the royal dock, where Tyndarecus's barges were usually moored.  
"The suitors," Clytemnestra said softly from behind the younger girl, as though she could read Helen's thoughts.  
"Did Achilles come?" Helen asked, sea-blue eyes now straining to get a better look.  
Clytemnestra smiled softly, yet sadly. "Yes, he came," She finally said.  
"What's wrong then? Something troubles you."  
Clytemnestra sighed, and pulled her fingers though her curly brown hair. "I don't know. Some things, you'll find, are exciting to think of; to imagine. Yet in reality they aren't so wonderful. I have heard stories... of child bearing. Women die."  
Helen plopped down next to her sister, and, upon removing her sandals slipped her small white feet into the pond. "You're not married yet you know. You worry too much."  
"I don't know... it's all so frightening. What if I hate my husband?"  
"I'm sure you won't," Helen said automatically.  
"What if my husband tires of me, and goes in search of other women?" Clytemnestra asked.  
"You're not married yet," Helen repeated. "Savor the time you have now!"  
"That's the problem," Said Clytemnestra as though she had just figured a particularly hard problem out. "You live in the moment, Helen. Maybe it's good that I worry, so I can anticipate the consequences of my actions and life before they come back to haunt me."  
"Well," Said Helen indignantly, "I'd rather have fun while I can instead of always worrying about the future."  
"Sometimes you really do seem young," Clytemnestra said sorrowfully.  
"I am young," Helen snorted defiantly, "So I act young. You are young also, and you should act accordingly!"  
Clytemnestra laid back against a mossy boulder, and folder her arms over her stomach. "Helen...to act one's age is to be ignorant."  
"The God's made us this way! Why should we not be natural and act the way we're made to? Look at Zeus, whenever he feels a desire for a woman he lies with her! He does not feel ashamed."  
"But look at the consequences to his actions! If Zeus had thought ahead instead of following his feelings, Io wouldn't have been stuck a cow, and Semele would not have been vaporized!" Clytemnestra returned.  
"But," Returned Helen with a smile, "We wouldn't have Artemis and Apollo if Zeus had been more controlled, and Medusa would still plague us."  
"Well, the children of Zeus do seem to go on and do dramatic things," The older girl conceded.  
Helen nodded absentmindedly, and drifted off to sleep next to her sister. 


	3. Clytemnestra's Anger

It was early evening when the two girls returned back to the palace.  
"Where have you been!" Snapped Alisa upon seeing them. "We don't have much time to get you two ready for the banquet."  
Clytemnestra immediately turned pale, knowing exactly what the banquet was for, but Helen grinned: banquets meant she got to dress up.  
Clucking under her tongue, Alisa, and Clytemnestra's nurse Cassia bathed the girls in rose-scented water. The girls were both clothed in simple, yet elegant gowns made from fine Egyptian silk. Helen's was blue to match the hue of her eyes, and Clytemnestra wore one of deep purple, to emphasize her royal status.  
With a practiced hand, Cassia twisted Clytemnestra's hair up into braided knot, allowing several curls to hang lose. But as she was younger, Helen wore her hair unbound.  
Along with their attendants, the girls made their way to the state banquet hall. It was a large room, decorated with frescoes depicting Sparta's many conquests, and in honor of the room's purpose, the revels of Dionysius and his fair dryads.  
Leda and Tyndarecus were positioned at couches at the head of the table, and beside them, in the places of honor, were two men. One, however shone with a Godly radiance, and his muscled, athletic body drew the attention of every female in the room. He was Achilles. The other was a less impressive, stockier man with a stern impression plastered over his weathered face. While his body was just as toned, it was not as beautiful to look upon as that of Achilles. This was the famed Agamemnon, King of Mycenae.  
It was next to him that Clytemnestra was seated, to her obvious consternation. Helen watched the young men with childlike fascination, and was startled when she felt both their eyes fixate upon her. She felt herself blush, and she expressed a small smile, not made up of pride, but embarrassment.  
"And who is this?" Agamemnon enquired, eyes rooted to Helen.  
"That," Said Tyndarecus with a cough, "Is my youngest daughter, Helen."  
"How old is she?" Was the next question.  
"Twelve years of age," Leda said protectively, eyes darting between Agamemnon, Achilles, and her daughter. Much as she disliked the attention Helen received from the older men, she could tell it would be something she would have to become used to. It was well known the emphasis men placed on beauty, and Helen possessed more than her fair share.  
"She is the most beautiful creature I have ever see," Achilles commented, almost dreamily as he gestured towards Helen.  
Out of the corner of her eye, Helen noticed Clytemnestra's jaw stiffen.  
But Helen smiled. Distractedly she pushed a stray blonde curl behind her ear.  
"Yes," Tyndarecus said stiffly, I have been blessed with two beautiful daughters."  
"Helen," Agamemnon said, addressing her, "You are destined to be something special. The Gods have marked you out with the gift of beauty."  
"Thank you," Helen murmured, not quite sure what to say.  
An awkward silence descended upon the table, broken only by Leda's traditional comments of weather, and the Clytemnestra's suitors one word comments.  
Never once that evening, did the eyes of the two men leave her, and as soon as possible, Helen escaped from the table.  
Not long afterwards, Clytemnestra joined her sister in their chamber, though Helen soon wished she hadn't.  
"Which one did you prefer?" Helen asked innocently from where she lounged upon her bed.  
Clytemnestra did not say anything; she merely stared at her sister, with eyes in which a host of emotions fought for dominance. "I did not care for either," She said finally in an unnaturally controlled voice.  
"Why?" Helen asked with a yawn.  
Clytemnestra stared at her sister, slowly shaking her head in disbelief, "How can you not know?"  
Helen shrugged and rolled over on her side so she was facing her sister.  
"Did you not see where their attentions lay?" Her voice was rising, with every word, and her face grew redder and redder.  
"They said I was beautiful," Helen said with a shrug.  
"They did not pay any attention to me at you. Can you even see what I was forced to go thought tonight? Agamemnon and Achilles- my suitors, could not take their eyes off you! You and your stupid beauty will rob me of what is rightfully mine! And all you can do is shrug and give me one of your innocent looks!"  
Helen stared at her sister, unsure what to do. Never before had she seen her sister so riled up. "I'm sorry," She ventured.  
"You're not sorry!" Clytemnestra snapped, "You smiled at them shamelessly. Oh- that way you use your beauty to your advantage!" She threw herself on her bed, not bothering to change, but yanked out the jeweled pins that held up her hair.  
"I did not choose my looks," Helen said softly.  
"No, but you like them too much! I see the way you look in the mirror all the time, brushing your hair, trying on different rouges and powders! And the way you smile when complimented... It's disgusting. You're in love with yourself!"  
"I am not," Helen snapped. She was angry now, these accusations had hit close to home, and as was instinct, she denied them. "I pay no less attention to my appearance that you do yours!" But this was not strictly true. Clytemnestra hardly ever bothered with her appearance. She submitted to her attendants when necessary, but bothered with her looks no more than was necessary.  
"You narcissistic little thing!" Snarled Clytemnestra. "Like Narcissus, your beauty will be your downfall."  
Helen sneered at her sister, but did not reply. She knew she could not battle with her sister while she was in this mood.  
  
The fires were thicker that night, searing her skin; and she never stopped running. She could hear the steps of pursuers, felt their hands on her dress. And there was a hole inside of her. A dark, gaping whole that pained her beyond expression. And always that sooty, leering face was there, restraining her.... 


	4. My sister leaves me

*Note- From now on chapters will be in first person. In the first chapters, they needed to be in third person, so I could describe the birth, and show some of the other character's emotions. But now Helen's feelings will become more complex and to show this I will need to use first person, which I like better anyway. Hope you enjoy it! ^_^  
  
Clytemnestra was angry with me for the next several days. Like a hawk, she watched me whenever I was around Achilles or Agamemnon, waiting for some hint that I was eager to accept their attentions. If she had gotten over her jealously, she would have seen that I did not care. I cannot deny that I enjoyed the feeling of being admired, but I did not want to pursue them like I saw some of the maidservants pursuing young men of all classes.  
Achilles in particular showed interest in me, despite my young age. Whenever I approached, he would immediately launch into large tales describing his physical prowess, and on occasion flew his muscles. He was like a child; secure and confident in himself, and even at the age of twelve I recognized it. Alisa and Cassia were two of the many admires he gained in Sparta. I could not deny he was handsome. He looked exactly like I had pictured the great sun lord, Apollo. Clytemnestra never regained her original worship of the man, but she was forced to at least accept Agamemnon after she was betrothed.  
I strongly disliked Agamemnon. Even after he was betrothed to my own sister, his eyes never once left me when I entered the room. Clytemnestra noticed this, and her behavior towards me grew vengeful. Whether her anger stemmed from jealousy, or fear of her impending marriage I never was quite sure. But I think now it was the latter. For on the night before she departed for Mycenae she poured out her heart to me.  
We were both in her bed, savoring out last hours together. Absentmindedly I stroked her hair. I did not want her to leave me. She was my only sister, and the sibling with which I felt the strongest bond. She began to cry when I hugged her, but quietly so Alisa and Cassia would not make up from their pallets by the door.  
"I don't want to go!" She sniffed.  
I did not want her to go either, but to tell her so would have strengthened her resolve to stay. "Hush," I told her, "You are bound for a new, exciting life! You will be Queen of Mycenae, and wife of one of the most admired men today."  
"Helen, I do not love him!" She protested, "and he does not love me. His attentions... wander."  
It was thoughtful of her not to blame me. I suppose she was beginning to realize it was something I could not help and she did not want to spoil our last night together. "You will grow to love him," I whispered into her chestnut curls.  
"No, I will not. There is something cold, detached about him that I don't like. It frightens me," she snuffled.  
"At least you will get used to it," I replied softly. I did not speak from experience. I spoke merely to soothe. "Maybe you will not love your husband, but we can survive without love. Besides... love is silly. Look at what it does to people. I have seen countless country girls driving themselves crazy over unrequited love."  
"Aphrodite should strike you down for saying such a thing! Love, Helen, is the best thing of life. It is true, it can drive us crazy. But it is a wonderful kind of insanity! You feel as if- as if- I don't know, the world revolves around you and the object of your desire. It's wonderful, Helen. All my life I have dreamed of marrying somebody I love, and now those dreams are lost... Lost like my freedom, and lost like Sparta and my family are now to me."  
"You speak of love like one with experience," I said, probing her.  
"There was a man, Helen, a couple months ago. I loved him, like I have loved no other. But he left, and now the only man in my life is stupid Agamemnon." New tears poured out of her eyes, leaving silver trails over her cheeks.  
"Who was he?" I breathed. She had never mentioned anything...  
"Aegisthus," She whispered, her eyes lightening in the moment she said his name.  
"Ah, I remember... you were distant while he was here," I said, stroking her hair gently. Aegisthus had been a handsome man, and a very eager one at that.  
"I am sorry... It was love that made me so. I was consumed, Helen. Little sister, if you are so lucky as to have love seek you out, do not turn it down. With Aegisthus I could have led a happy life, but for now I am consigned to marry I man I all but despise!"  
I promised I would take advantage of love for her sake, but being a mere twelve years old I did not think to highly of the thing which poets praise. I still thought love was stupid. I had not met Paris then...  
  
We fell asleep together, and I had a deep, dreamless sleep. No man was there to haunt me.  
  
In the morning, Clytemnestra dry-eyed, but indifferent. Gone was the softness which had been revealed to me only the night before. 


	5. The Treason of Theseus

The next three years were uneventful. With no Clytemnestra around, I spent most of my time pouring over old books, and my mother, Leda. Most of the women in the palace did not like me, or, did not trust me. I suppose it was because I took all the attention from the men at court, and I did not try to stop it. I loved the attention. Instead of dissuading my would-be lovers, I smiled flirtatiously at them, chatted with them about the weather, and spent extra-time working on my appearance.  
My mother, Leda, saw all this and was not pleased. "Helen, you are becoming vain," She told me one day as we sat next to the pond next to which Clytemnestra and I had talked of our futures three years ago.  
"I am not mother!" Was my natural response. But even then, I knew she was right. My favorite pastimes were trying on different rouges, powders, and creams. I took special delight in ordering my clothes, and in studying and learning ways to wear ones hair. Not only was I beautiful, but also I was aware of it. From a young age, I had been surrounded by flattery, ambassadors aching to please, and, recently, the first trickle of suitors had come in, composing poetry and music, all in honor of me.  
Rumors had been spread, all over the known world about me. Ridiculous rumors that I was the child of Zeus sprang up. They said the Gods had marked me. My mother was very distant whenever I mentioned such things.  
"Do not listen to such lies, Helen," She told me after I had made a jest of her and Zeus, "They are beneath you."  
But the funny thing was, she never denied it, she was always dismissive to me whenever I mentioned it to her.  
  
As I grew older, my beauty did not diminish, it flourished. By the time I was sixteen, hundreds of would-be suitors were being housed in the palace.  
Achilles was there again, and he was the most persistent of all my admirers. Once I had been annoyed by his cockiness, but now I took it with humor, and flirted with him just as I did with all the lovers. Many admirable men came to see me... if I had been anyone but myself I think I would have gone crazy, having to pick just one of these good men for myself. But their obsession with me did not serve to make me giddy, it made me feel above them. After all, what other woman had received this much attention?  
  
I sat in front of my mirror, arranging my hair when a thick arm flung itself around my waist, and a hand was clamped over my mouth. I tried to scream, but the hand made that impossible. I kicked with all my might, but I might as well have been striking rock, for I was not gratified with even a grunt. My captor bound my hands and feet, and gagged my mouth with a rough piece of linen. Clutching me to him, he leapt out of the window, and we landed on the grassy patch just outside of my window. He was not young, I could tell, but he had such strength that even Achilles would have been impressed. I was flung over the back of a waiting horse, and then away we rode, away from my home, and away from Sparta.  
I lost track of the days and nights, and my soul feeling was fear. We never stopped riding, until, one day we stopped by a small brook. He untied my feet, and undid the gag, but left my hands bound.  
  
"Who are you?" I whispered, not sure whether I wanted to know the answer.  
The man turned towards me, and sat down on the ground, next to me. "I am Theseus."  
I had heard tales of this man; he was the Prince of Athens! And he had defeated the Minotaur. I find that, at least, ironic now, as the Minotaur was a child of Zeus. "What do you want?" I asked in a timid voice.  
A smile flashed across Theseus's face, and disappeared before I could really take notice. "You are beautiful...more beautiful than anybody I have ever yet laid eyes upon."  
I smiled, my usual response to such flattery. Before remembering where I was. "What do you want?" I again asked. But this time it was more of a demand rather than a question. "Well, Helen, they say you are a child of Zeus. At first I did not believe it could be true... But after I laid eyes upon you, in your father's court... I believe the rumors. I am sure you have been told you are beautiful, and while that is true, your kind of beauty is no ordinary thing. It is... otherworldly, and-"  
  
"The point of this is?" I demanded. I refused to be taken in by such unabashed flattery. As though I, Helen, could be the sun of the mighty Zeus! "Pirithous, my good friend, and I decided long ago to each marry one of Zeus's daughter. I desire you, Helen. If I had stayed behind in Sparta, I would have been anonymous suitor. I see how you treat your admirers. You act interested in them, but that interest is only skin deep. You treat all of us the same... Smiling and laughing at our praise, but at the same time, you are detached." "If I am so 'otherworldly' as you say, should I not be detached? And, if I am the daughter of Zeus, which, I am afraid you are mistaken in believing, why should I settle for mere mortals such as yourself? I have been told the Gods favor me, have marked me out, so why should I not wait for a God like myself to love?" Theseus stared at me. "Gods, woman!" he said, throwing his arms up in the air exasperatedly, "Have they also informed you of your insatiable vanity?" "First," I said, now quite angry, "you say I am the child of the Gods. Then, when I suggest that if this be so, I should wait for somebody who should be deserving, you call me vain?"  
  
"The fact that you are, as I have said, un-describable beauty wise should by no means make you think you are above us!" Theseus cried. "The fact that you and your friend decided to marry a daughter of Zeus is no reason to abduct me in such a manner! How dare you feel so free with the Princess of Sparta! "As I am Prince of Athens, I feel quite free, to be free around you," He snapped. I raised my hand to slap him, but he caught my wrist, and twisted it painfully behind my back. With his other hand, he caressed my cheek, and muttered foolish, disgusting words in my ear. I was pinned to him, and I could not move. I was filled with terror at what would come next. I had heard the palace women telling stories... But at that moment, he grunted behind me, and fell forward on top of me. But instead of furthering his attempts upon me, he lay still, and motionless. I felt a warm substance pool over my body, and a sickly sweet scent I did not recognize filled the air. I screamed. "Sister!" A familiar voice called from above me. Theseus was dragged off of my body, and only then could I see that he had been slain. Blood covered the front of my body; Theseus's blood. But more than anything, I noted the face of dear Castor above me, eyes tender and worried. "Are you alright?" He asked. He knelt down beside me, and it was then that I began to cry, into his shoulder. "Now I am," I snuffled. "Did he... get you?" Pollux asked as he plopped down on the other side of me. I did not have to asked what he meant with that. "No, I whispered. But he was about to... how did you?" "We were able to track that bloody bastard. Fool for even thinking he could get away with something like this!" Pollux exclaimed vehemently. I looked over at Theseus's corpse, and my stomach lurched. To think that seconds ago that very man had been talking with me, touching me, and now... only the Gods knew where he was. "Lets go," I whispered. Gently, Castor picked me up in his arms, and carried me over to his waiting horse. Pollux mounted a second, and together, the three of us returned home.  
  
I never really thought of Theseus after that. The experience had been so new, so horrible that I tried to forget it. But if there was one thing that I learned from this, it was what my beauty did to men. It drove them crazy, infatuated them, like it would Paris, and all the other brave men of Troy. 


	6. Menelaus is Given my Hand

Sorry- I forgot to put up a disclaimer. So here it goes: Homer has been dead for thousands of years. I however, am still quite alive. Therefore, I am obviously not Homer- and all characters are his.  
  
After that I was more closely guarded. I was not allowed to wander out of the palace grounds alone. I spent most of my time sewing new gowns, and reading in the library.  
More suitors poured in by the day, full of the rumors that had spread far and wide about my beauty. I felt like a prize, then. They came with gifts, attendants, and promises of glory. But their enthusiasm was directed towards my father. I was given no say in the affair. It was just as well, I suppose. I did not love any, and though there were some I preferred above others, my favor did not drive me to such lengths as to challenge my father, and force him to give me say.  
I watched as my father discussed the young men with his advisors, discussing political advantages of one, the great wealth of another, and the physical prowess of yet another. For completeness sake, I suppose I should include the foremost of my suitors. There was Odysseus, son of Laertes; Diomedes, son of Tydeus; Antilochus, son of Nestor; Agapenor, son of Ancaeus; Sthenelus, son of Capaneus; Amphimachus, son of Cteatus; Thalpius, son of Eurytus; Meges, son of Phyleus; Amphilochus, son of Amphiaraus; Menestheus, son of Peteos; Schedius and Epistrophus, sons of Iphitus; Polyxenus, son of Agasthenes; Peneleus, son of Hippalcimus; Leitus, son of Alector; Ajax, son of Oileus; Ascalaphus and Ialmenus, sons of Ares; Elephenor, son of Chalcodon; Eumelus, son of Admetus; Polypoetes, son of Peirithous; Leonteus, son of Coronus; Podaleirius and Machaon, sons of Asclepius; Philoctetes, son of Poeas; Eurypylus, son of Euaemon; Protesilaus and Podarces, sons of Iphiclus; Menelaus, son of Pleisthenes (or Atreus); Ajax and Teucer, sons of Telamon; Patroclus, son of Menoetius; and Idomeneus, son of Deucalion. And of course there was Achilles.  
My father did not seem to know how to deal with the hordes of young men, clamoring for my hand. To choose one would offend the hundreds of others, and it could pose future problems. He hinted to me several times that he knew just the one, though he never told me until after the oath.  
With the encouragement of Odysseus (that crafty, wily man!), he arranged to have all the suitors to back up the chosen one, and to fight for him if I was taken away. This oath would cause severe problems for me in the future, and it would destroy my love. But, at the time it seemed exciting to have all these famed young men swearing to honor and protect the one who married me.  
Odysseus was a strange man. He did not actively pursue me as all the others had done. He did not constantly remark on my beauty, not any other merit that would have deserved a compliment. Instead he spoke of his home, Ithaca, and vague subjects such as the weather and the planting seasons. But I liked him. He treated me not as a God, but as a normal human being. Of course I did love to be worshipped, but the same thing over and over can become monotonous, and Odysseus did indeed break the chain of respects. I was even slightly disappointed when he settled for my cousin, Penelope, though I wished him well and presented him with a sapphire ring for his new wife.  
A thick anxiety descended over court after the oath. My father would soon make his announcement, and I would be shipped off with my new bridegroom; whoever that would be. I refused to think about it. Clytemnestra was right when she said I did not worry about the future, I merely lived in the moment. But on that fateful day, an emotion I had hardly ever felt descended upon me: it was fear.  
The suitors were led to my father's courtroom, where the hundreds of them crowded before his throne. I was positioned slightly behind him, arrayed in all my glory. I felt the eyes of hundreds, greedily resting upon me, and I shifted slightly so my face was masked in shadows. My breath came in slow, short gasps, knowing my future would be decided in moments. I now had a glimpse of what Clytemnestra had felt before she was to marry Agamemnon, and I did not like it at all.  
I held my breath as my father stood, robes falling about his shoulders gracefully. As one, my suitors all stood a bit straighter, and their eyes bored into my father mercilessly. "All of you," Tyndarecus began, "Are here for the hand of my daughter, Helen. But only one will be, has been, chosen. I beg of you to remember the oath you all took to stand behind my daughter's chosen. To break the oath and fight, would be to break your honor- and the Gods will make you pay." He paused, and drew in a deep breath. "Through much scrutiny, I have come to a decision. My daughter's hand will be given to Menelaus," He paused waiting for the anguished moans to subside. "And, as a gift to the both of them, I bequeath the Kingdom of Sparta to them. May Menelaus's valor and my daughters beauty forever adorn these halls."  
I closed my eyes with despair as Menelaus approached my father and bowed. He did not possess any of the qualities and desires I had hoped for. He was a middle-aged man with red hair he always wore in a stubby braid. He, at least, I tried to console myself was brother to my sister's husband, Agamemnon. At least I would get to see my sister at our wedding.  
"Helen," I heard a voice say from beside me. The voice was low, and gruff, "I hope you will except my hand."  
I opened my eyes to see Menelaus before me, eyes alight with greed. "Your hand is not for me to except, but to receive," I said demurely. I again shut my eyes, but this time to keep my tears from spilling out. I felt a warm hand lightly caress my shoulder, "I will always take care of you Helen," Menelaus was saying, "We will be bound to one another for a lifetime.  
I nodded, and then excused myself as quickly as possible. 


End file.
